[pfsb] ritual aftermath

[lightamidchaos]

He takes Wei Ying from the ritual and back to the room upstairs as quickly as he can, half-wild with worry that he tries to hide.

The other man is unsteady on his feet, dizzy from the vast amounts of resentful energy that had crashed down on them all by the lake. Add to that Harrow's own power, the shock of seeing Jiang Yanli's ghost inhabiting one of the skeletons Harrow had animated, and--

He could curse himself for a fool, and will, later. Right now, there are more important matters.

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[acrookedpath]

He's fairly sure he's mumbled Lan Zhan, I'm fine at least seven times by now, but it's possible it was all in his head. And it is difficult to argue that point effectively when he can barely stand upright.

He lost the paper the Ninth gave him somewhere along the way. How could he have been so foolish as to drop it? What if she needs it again? They weren't done yet. If he could have just --

(If he could have just taken some of the resentful energy without fear of disrupting the ceremony -- )

The warding talisman shimmers as it lets them inside. The flicker of new energy across his skin makes him shudder, like a palmful of water dashed across his face.

[lightamidchaos]

Lan Wangji's arm around his waist tightens.

"Wei Ying. Hold on."

He half-leads, half-carries Wei Ying across the room to his bed and lowers him gently down.

[acrookedpath]

"M'fine," he insists, blurrily, completely unable to resist Lan Zhan lowering him to the bed. "Is the Ninth...?"

He's shivering a little, far more from shock than from the residual necromancy of the ceremony.

[lightamidchaos]

He ignores Wei Ying's protest and kneels on the floor beside him, the better to lift the other man's feet up to the bed.

"At the inlet. Still."

He snatches the comforter from his own bed and gently drapes it over Wei Ying.

[acrookedpath]

He tries to nod, has to stop as his head begins spinning again, and settles for pulling the blanket snug around himself, curling small beneath it.

"She was not hurt?"

[lightamidchaos]

"She did not appear to be."

He smooths the cover over Wei Ying, making sure it is secure, with no place where a draft could enter.

"It was her ritual."

[acrookedpath]

"Good."

His vision has begun to swim again. Unsteadily, he blinks at Lan Zhan, trying to bring him into focus.

"She still has your beads," he mumbles. "And the silver. She said it wouldn't be destroyed."

[lightamidchaos]

"I do not care."

It comes out a little clipped in its urgency, and as he hears his tone he makes himself take a mental step backward.

"I do not care," he repeats, this time far more gently. "It does not matter if they were lost."

[acrookedpath]

How can he say that?

"Yes, it does," Wei Wuxian tries to insist, struggling to sit up even a little. He falters and sinks back to the bed. "Lan Zhan, you should not have given them up -- "

[lightamidchaos]

"It does not matter," he says, again.

"Wei Ying. Lie still. Recover."

[acrookedpath]

He grumbles. Sulkily, "You never believe me when I tell you I'm fine."

(Because nine times out of ten, he isn't.)

This far away from the furnace of resentful energy, color has gradually returned to his vision. Wei Wuxian can see the bright splashes of yellow paper along his talisman wall; the patterns of palest blue amid the bright white of Lan Zhan's robes. If he still can't quite focus his eyes, and his body insists he may have been trampled by a horse or six dozen several minutes ago, what of it?

[lightamidchaos]

"Mn."

Lan Wangji studies him carefully for several seconds, taking in every nuance of how ill he looks.

"Lie still," he warns, and gets to his feet.

There is a washbasin in the bathing room, and several clean cloths. He fills it with warm water and carries both it and the cloths back to the bed, then makes a second trip for a drinking cup and pitcher of cool water.

He sets that aside for the moment and kneels beside the bed once more. Moistening one of the cloths, he reaches out to wipe Wei Ying's lips clean, just in case any blood remains.

[acrookedpath]

That... feels nice. He had almost forgotten there was still blood on his mouth. Unconsciously, he sighs, eyes drifting closed.

"I expected that to be simpler," he mumbles.

[lightamidchaos]

He sets the used cloth aside and repeats the process with a clean one, making sure every drop of blood is gone before setting that one aside, too.

"She did not tell you?"

He takes a fresh cloth, dampens it and wrings it out, and uses it to gently wipe Wei Ying's brow.

[acrookedpath]

"I did not ask," he admits, as he relaxes further under Lan Zhan's touch. "I did not think to. She said it would be a consecration ceremony, and I did not realize..."

He trails off into a sigh.

"Different worlds. Different necromancy. I should have asked more."

[lightamidchaos]

He rinses the cloth, then continues his gentle ministrations.

"Next time. If there is one. Ask."

[acrookedpath]

He huffs a weak laugh. "You may rest assured, Lan Zhan, that I will," he says. "Every detail. Every moment. Every word spoken, every energy used, every drop of blood spilled. All of it."

Would he have still agreed to help the Ninth if he'd known this would happen? He would like to think so. But as the dizzying effects of the resentful energy wear off, he sees a lotus blossom behind his eyes, obscuring half of his sister's face.

He wraps one hand tighter into the blanket.

[lightamidchaos]

"Mn."

Wei Ying tenses, and Lan Wangji hesitates for a moment, searching his expression carefully before he resumes.

"Do you want water? To drink?"

[acrookedpath]

"No." His voice has begun to fade. "No, thank you."

The damp cloth on his brow feels so wonderful. Is he sick with fever? Maybe. Maybe there will be soup later, he thinks. She will wake him when it's ready. The blood on her robes, the lotus growing through her -- that will only be because whatever illness he's caught is playing tricks on his mind. That's all.

[lightamidchaos]

He makes a noncommittal sound, and continues to wipe Wei Ying's brow, refreshing the cloth with warm water as needed.

[acrookedpath]

Slowly, Wei Wuxian's fingers uncurl from the blanket. He does not stir as Lan Zhan draws the cloth across his brow.

A-Xian, he thinks he hears.

He cannot answer before he slips into darkness.

[lightamidchaos]

He waits until he is absolutely certain Wei Ying is deeply asleep and will stay that way before he sets the cloth aside and gets to his feet once more.

Moving as quietly as he can, Lan Wangji leaves the room and returns to the ocean inlet.


A while later, he returns, a bag tucked into his sleeve and carrying a tray with hot water (maintained by a warming talisman), a teapot, two cups and a small packet of Yunmeng black tea ready to be brewed. He is not, quite, dripping sea water, having wrung out the excess before entering the inn. His robes are soaked and ruined, however, with saltwater stains up to the middle of his chest -- both from standing in the inlet in the first place and from being splashed by waves driven by the rising tide.

He sets the tray aside on the low table, lays the bag containing the ritual items flat beside it, checks to make sure Wei Ying is sleeping peacefully still, then takes the washbasin, pitcher, and cloths back to the bathing chamber - along with his qiankun bag, which fortunately had escaped the drenching.

A quarter-shichen later, he emerges once more, wearing a clean set of inner and second-layer robes and with towel-dried hair combed through. He hangs the ruined robes over the privacy screen to dry; perhaps they can be salvaged after all, although he is not hopeful. His qiankun bag (with his hairpiece) and his forehead ribbon he hangs from the small bedside hooks as before -- and then he pauses, considering.

Wei Ying is almost certain to have another nightmare tonight, given everything.

With great care, so as not to make noise, he moves his bed sideways, lifting one end at a time, until it rests flush against the side of Wei Ying's bed, with no space between. Lan Wangji crawls into his own bed and lies down, then reaches out to rest one hand lightly on Wei Ying's side, so that he himself will be able to know and will wake immediately if a nightmare begins or if Wei Ying is otherwise disturbed.

He closes his eyes, and is asleep in moments.

[acrookedpath]

In his dream, he is harvesting lotuses from the lake.

The seeds he planted have flourished beyond all expectation. Flowers cover the entire shoreline; between them, a tiny squid darts to and fro, and he laughs as he chases after it, trousers and robes hiked high to keep them clear of the water. The squid likes to steal the lotus blossoms sometimes. He does not mind. They've even made a game of it: the little creature will try to pluck a flower without Wei Wuxian noticing, and if he catches it, it must give it back.

As he splashes through the knee-high water, his feet tangle on something and send him pitching forward with a yelp. The squid burbles with laughter as it swims away. Wei Wuxian is still laughing, too, as he hefts himself upright, shoving his soaking-wet hair from his eyes.

The laughter dies on his tongue when he sees what he's tripped over.

"Shijie," he whispers, horrified. "Shijie, no -- "

She is tangled in the roots of the lotuses, eyes wide and unseeing. Blood drifts from her mouth in a long thin plume. How long has she been trapped down there? He has seen drowned bodies before, bloated by water -- she is too pale, her fine features swollen, but no, she cannot be dead, no --

Frantically, he tears at the plants to free her. For every one he uproots, another grows fast, seizing his hands, trying to drag him down.

("Shijie," he whispers in his sleep, as he trembles beneath Lan Zhan's hand.)

[lightamidchaos]

He wakes with a start in the darkness, unsure at first as to why.

Wei Ying shivers beside him, whispering something, and Lan Wangji realizes what is happening.

He rolls to his side, facing Wei Ying, and raises his hand to the other man's shoulder.

"Wei Ying." Softly, softly said. "Wei Ying. You are dreaming."

[acrookedpath]

Wei Ying.

He cannot tell who says his name. It doesn't sound like his sister, but why would it, if she is dead? (No. No, she is not dead, he will not let it -- )

But something shifts anyway, deeper than memory. This is a voice of safety, of good news, and though it leaves the lightest touch on the dream, it is an indelible one.

Wei Wuxian rips at the lotuses, and they do not re-root. They are only plants in his hands now, not malevolent vines seeking to grasp and drag him down to join Jiang Yanli. He throw himself into the water, wraps his arms around the cold body, pulls --

and he surfaces with a bawling, terrified A-Yuan in his arms, the little boy clutching tight to him as if he will vanish.

He nearly bursts into tears himself from the relief. "Shh, shh," he whispers as his adopted son sobs against his shoulder. "I have you, shh. You are fine. It's all right, A-Yuan. Shhh."

(In the waking world, with no gap to cross between their beds, Wei Wuxian draws closer to Lan Zhan. And as he hugs A-Yuan close in his dream, so he wraps an arm around the other man, seeking comfort, providing the same.)